


so welcome is your wish

by gootarts



Category: Umineko no Naku Koro ni | When the Seagulls Cry
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, charity donation commission, m rating for boob touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:35:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24581653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gootarts/pseuds/gootarts
Summary: A thousand years of memories takes time to process, even if they were originally yours.
Relationships: Beatrice the Golden Witch/Ushiromiya Battler
Comments: 4
Kudos: 35





	so welcome is your wish

Even before Beato revived, Battler wanted to apologize to her. Not just for being too late to save her, but for _everything_. 

So once the grand shotgun wedding of Erika to Territory Lord Battler was called off, he’d wandered to the back of the chapel. He could've sworn he saw Beato heading in that direction a moment earlier--the reception was supposed to be staged there, its buffet stacked high with cake pops, dumplings, noodles and commemorative chopsticks. 

As he stepped into that gallery of windows casting a pale gold light, he heard a loud, impossible-to-miss _crunch_ as Beato popped the little wedding topper of the unlucky couple off of the wedding cake and into her mouth. As he opened his mouth to speak, he was only met with a loud cracking as her teeth broke the topper into pieces. Somehow, his gut told him that doing an emotional confession to her while she was busy gnawing on an edible statue of him being dragged around in a ball and chain was a bad idea.

The timeline after Beatrice had revived in all her glory had been less of a sequence of events and more of an unstable Rube Goldberg machine, with him being the poor ball bearing bouncing from task to task that needed his attention--the stakes wanted to talk, Dlanor wanted him to stamp paperwork, some goat was always tapping at his shoulder asking where the bathroom was. So he’d put off speaking to her while they were alone until one thing led to another, and that another thing to the wedding ring wrapped around her finger, and that ring to the bedroom.

So now he was here, the foot of the bed occupied by him fidgeting, and the head with a witch. The two were both eyeing each other like two boxers who had just stepped into the ring, trying to read the other, trying to judge who would make the first move.

Right. Um. He wanted to talk, but there was a tension here, one that wasn't really tied to what had happened earlier. Weddings were usually just a setup for what came after, right? Even when he was a kid and it was Rudolf getting married, there were always scores of dirty jokes whispered around the reception table that his young ears strained to hear. After all, there was a sort of acknowledgement from everybody present in a wedding crowd above a certain age that the two being wed later would, erm….

His thoughts were interrupted by the crass, harsh, beautiful sound of laughter. “Tell me, Battler, are tomatoes in season? I could almost pluck your head off your shoulders and nibble as an aperitif!”

“Huh?” Snapping him out of his thoughts was one thing, but understanding her metaphors was the sort of thing that required a four-year degree in Beatoisms, just like how you needed time to appreciate the beauty of her laugh, or the dimples in her toothy grins.

There was a pause as her face froze, not quite sure how to respond, before her eyes darted away to the floor. “Your cheeks are really red.”

His hands instinctively flew to his face, but at the same time, he couldn’t pull his eyes from hers. It was just a little flushed as she glared at the ground, trying not to show any disappointment from her food joke not hitting home.

She gave an unhappy sigh as she brought her fingers to her temples.

“Erm, are you okay?” Crap, Virgilia mentioned something about this to him earlier, but he didn’t pay it too much heed. Something about cramming too many memories into a person’s head at once. And headaches? The memories needed a bit of time to settle, or something along those lines. It was why she still tacked on the ‘-san’ to his name that the chick version of herself did half the time, or her voice would suddenly soften. Her brain was still working overtime to process everything, to bring it in line, even if it seemed she was okay.

“I’m fiiiiiine! As perfect as a woman could be!” Despite that vigor in her voice, she spoke with her eyes closed.

“If you say so.” She didn’t see him sit down, but she must have felt it, because she leaned into his shoulder a moment later. Her head burrowed into the crook of his neck as he slowly, gently looped an arm around her shoulders.

“Isn’t the man supposed to say something like ‘you look bad, what’s wrong?’ in this scenario?” Her cheeks puffed up just a little, like one of those cute pufferfish (Ange had always teased him over that opinion, but he was right, dammit! They were cute!).

“Maybe? I only really have an hour of experience in the husband section of my resume.”

That one got a long, whooping laugh out of her, one that started with a grin and ended with her thumping him on the shoulder in laughter. “I forgot you were incompetent for a moment. My apologies.”

“And _I_ forgot you’re terrible at communicating.” Her eyes were still shut, but they opened just a crack as he kissed her forehead. “Next time, just write a letter saying ‘I love you.’”

Crap, Beato didn’t have the memories of the fifth game, right? He hoped she know anything of that embarrassing conversation with Virgilia and Dlanor in the rose garden, and equally as important, that she didn’t know he just reused that exact same line from back then.

“Pot, meet kettle.” She grinned, fully aware she was initiating a kamikaze takedown, resulting in nothing less than complete embarrassment for the two of them. “You say that as if you’re not on the same level of romantic self-awareness as an embarrassed schoolboy with a crush!”

“Noooo, don’t bring that up! It’s embarrassing!” He tapped her head over and over, as if he was a wrestler knocked out in the ring and begging for mercy! She only gave a haughty cackle as she pulled herself away from him, that familiar wicked grin on her face.

“Hoh? Now, if his romantic expertise is equal to zero, I wonder where that leaves his bedroom expertise…” She opened her eyes as if to challenge him, daring him to strike back. That was the foundation of their relationship, after all. Ridiculous teasing, the type you would only expect from a grade-schooler, not from a pair of immortal witches. 

“H-hey, doesn’t that apply to you, too?!”

“I’m a witch who has lived for a thousand years! Of course countless men have fallen for my charms!” 

“Mind repeating that in red?”

“I-I refuse! What sort of man would ask a woman that?“

He thoughtfully stroked his chin, as if he were some great philosopher trying to uncover the secrets of the human psyche. “A man who asks the woman about to kill him for her cup size wouldn’t have any qualms about asking that question, I’d imagine.” 

“That’s right, that’s riiiiight,” she said, drawing out those vowels like a child with a lump of taffy. “I’m sure you’re waiting on pins and needle to finally see it, hmmmm?”

“Well, I mean, if you want to.” He gulped as the mood shifted, but if she was offering that freely, he would gladly take it.If he was to open the catbox, even if he already knew what the contents within would be, he wanted to do it together with Beato.

“Hm?” She tilted her head. "Getting cold feet? Are you perhaps not the pervert I took you for?"

“Today was busy. And, well, there’s a couple things I wanted to apologize to you for.” He tried to give as awkward a smile that he could, to put as sheepish a grin on his face as possible, but as he tried to look down towards the ground, Beato had other ideas.

Her hand cusped the side of his face, tilting it upwards to force him to look at her eyes, shimmering and relentless like the ocean waves. “There is no need to. You’ve done enough already, Battler.”

“Are you sure?“ He pressed his fingers overtop hers; they were warm. In the silence between them, he could feel the gentle pulse of her wrists as she looked away.

“I’m sure.” He could feel her breath warm his face as she spoke.

Her hands began to leave his face, but he pulled her left hand in to kiss the ring upon her finger.“If you’re sure.”

His lips trailed up her hand a little, to her knuckles, her wrist. The sleeves of her dress covered the rest of her arms, but it didn’t stop him from lifting the corners of them up and planting kisses there, too.

“Battler.” Her voice was a mixture of every possible emotion crammed into one single word as she gazed at him. He’d opened the metaphorical catbox in the last game; he knew the contents inside, even without seeing the cat itself. But some part of him still wanted to peek, to see all of her, to accept all of her.

“Do you…?” The last couple words caught in his throat as he trailed his hands over her shoulders. Her face was silent as she nodded, her hands motioning to her back, where the lacing of her corset was.

Right. Erm. He had no idea how to take that off. His hands trembled as he traced his fingers over the verifiable maze of lacing. Could he use magic to remove the lace? Would she notice if he did that? She probably would, right? Would that ruin the mood?

Beato chuckled as his hands slowly managed to undo the knot tying it all together before slipping her fingers underneath his. With a couple well-placed tugs, the back was off, and his wife—such a strange, beautiful word, _his wife_ , the sort of thing he wanted to roll over his tongue a hundred times over—rolled her shoulders as they were freed. His eyes instinctively darted right below that before he forced them up again. _Idiot!_ _This is a romantic moment!_ _Don’t activate your sommelier instincts!_

She definitely noticed his gaze drifting, because her peals of laughter echoed through the room like so many bells ringing. Whoops. His body instinctively recoiled a little, but Beato, naturally, had her own ideas; she caught his wrist and guided it until he could feel her heart beating. Despite all her pomp and laughter, it was beating like a rabbit's. Just like his was. He had to draw in a long, deep breath before drawing his face near to her as he leaned in to kiss her collarbone, his hands ghosting over her chest before giving it a gentle squeeze.

Despite being a self-proclaimed breast connoisseur of sorts, over the course of his life he had only had a small sampling of boob from the occasional girl he’d dated. Those awkward, embarrassing high school flings, as ephemeral as the morning dew, had given him pecks on the cheek, a couple hits to second base, but nothing as involved or as intimate as what was in front of him now. He was thankful to that little experience, at least; it told him to kiss Beato’s breasts first before lapping his tongue all over them like an excited puppy, to not stifle any of the embarrassing sounds bubbling in his throat.

His brain—and more importantly, his face—was very much enjoying the lovely world of tits, freed from the constraints of rigid, non-squishy flesh. Once transported, it was difficult to return to the normal world, but the warm feeling dripping down his face was jarring. As he looked up to see where it came from, he only saw Beato; fingers burrowing into her scalp, tears streaming down her face, and ugly expression on her mouth.

It made the blood freeze in his veins, shattering any trance he was under. His brain was immediately racing to find the reason behind why her fingers were clawing at her face, why she was panting, why her upper lip was curled as she pawed for a blanket to cover herself. Normally when he fucked up a heavy makeout session, he’d get a bored look, a polite complaint. Even for Beato, a reaction like this went far beyond what he would have expected.

“Hey, Beato. What…..what’s going on?” Everything about her body was like a caged animal, from her eyes darted around the room to her muscles tensed to spring away. It was all he could do to back away, to hold up his hands and make his voice as soft as his throat would allow. “ _Beato_?”

As she groaned and looked him in the eyes, he only saw the grey of raging storm clouds within her irises, not the harsh blue of the sea. Those eyes and that expression, pleading and begging with a mere expression, made Virgilia’s comments about regaining memories replay itself in his head. The person in front of him, he knew her name—but it wasn’t Beato.

As his mind processed that, his heart burst out in agony as she glared down at her body, digging her nails into her chest as she breathed, slow and heavy, before their eyes met again. Despite their distance, not because he was scared _of_ her, but of hurting her, her expression seemed to be pleading with him to come closer.

“No. Not furniture,” she growled at herself, her expression almost praying that he would join in, that he would create a universe where that fact was resolutely, absolutely true.

“You’re not furniture,” he whispered back. He scooted a little closer, still eyeing the tension in her body, ready to pull back if she did, but she didn’t move. “Not to me, at least.”

He had to remind himself that she wasn’t truly Sayo, not in the way the previous game master had been. Even if the way her expression softened as he invited her next to him again was a perfect match. This wasn’t how the apology he’d rehearsed and rescripted ad nauseam in his head went, with a ‘sorry’, with a sob, with a nod; just by her presence, he could feel a heft to his words as they left his mouth. Maybe that was only natural; it was through words, spoken with the weight of the world but the flippantness of a child, that had triggered the entire rusty, broken machine upholding the Ushiromiya family to crash down. One single word couldn’t build back a broken empire, or restore a shattered heart. Only actions could do that; love, understanding, trust. If that was what the person in front of him wanted, he would give it to them a hundred, thousand, million times over.

“Does your head hurt?” he asked as he patted the blanket next to him. As she nodded, she crawled over next to him. Slowly, nervously, his hand made its way to her thigh as his head tried to ignore all the signals his brain was sending him, that she was _naked_ and sitting next to him. He wanted to reach into his skull to tear that part of him out. It kept pulsing heat to every inch of him, even as he tried to ignore it.

Her arms were still covering her chest as she laid her head on his shoulder again, quiet. He knew the weight of that word, furniture. Like that word, it was the kind of thing that was part of your life. Even if your brain didn’t actively acknowledge it in that very moment, it was still present, sitting in the apartment of your mind, heavy and immovable. Arguing if it was there or not was pointless; after all, it was wholly within your brain. So he took one of the few remaining options and held her, pressing his face into her hair, his hands hyper sensitive as to where they were touching.

“I love you, you know. I don’t care if you’re furniture.” As he whispered it to her, he felt a gentle shiver run up her spine. She didn’t speak, but she didn’t question those words dripping from his tongue, spoken not from his mind but from the blood-red beating of his heart. Even without Battler saying it, the two of them knew that fact to be true, but merely speaking that truth gave it even more power; it’s a promise, one they both knew he’d never break, not after all that he witnessed. ****

He felt a warm weight settle across his back in return as she wrapped her arms around him, pressing their bodies close. He felt everything; her chest rising and falling, the warm, wet tears soaking through his shirt. It was only then that he realized that maybe an apology wasn’t what she was looking for. Words could be kind, but they didn’t cradle you, physically shielding you from the world like a lover could. Even after her hand retreated from her temples and her body relaxed in his arms, he only let go when she began to wriggle out of his arms as whatever of Sayo’s memories that had been stirred up from his touching, like silt in a creek, were settling back to the bottom.

“Why?” She whispered. It was an open question, one that he knew not to answer. “Even after my body is like this, why do I still feel……”

“Why do I still feel like this?” She was the territory lord of this fragment, the one who ripped apart the island and made it whole again in an endless, bloody cycle. She knew all the whispered secrets, had seen every hidden skeleton, their souls and flesh long since rotted away. And yet she was still here, next to him, asking a question neither could answer.

“Like what?”

“Like……” He couldn’t feel her hands as they traced the outside of his ribs, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t feel the confusion in every cell of her body. “Like my body’s not my own. The chick version of me didn’t feel this way.”

She spoke more to the air than to Battler as she continued. “It’s been like this since I got my memories back.”

She sighed as she collapsed onto the pillow.

_oh._

He lowered himself down next to her so that he was on top of the covers, her below. “I’m sorry.”

At this point, he probably sounded like a broken record, but Beato only gave a fierce smirk as she reached for his face.

“Mmmm, it’s fine. Fiiiiine. If I didn’t get them back I wouldn’t be able to tease you like thiiiiiis.” At the very least, Beato being feisty and pinching his cheek (ow) meant she was feeling okay.

“Is it getting better, at least?” _Better_ was a strange term for witches, for it meant comparison to something in the past. For a witch that would live centuries or eons, a better future could be the next sunrise, or the next millennia. But if was for Beato, he was willing to wait any length of time. His entire life plan was thrown off track the second he stepped onto Rokkenjima, and he had already kissed his naive teenage dreams of having marathon sex on his wedding night farewell. It was strange to envision having to treat Beato with a soft touch in bed, or even like this, but that was what happened when you try to cram a thousand years of pain into a single soul in the blink of an eye.

He was the one who drove the chick version of herself down that path, after all. He was willing to wait for as long as it took, even if was the same thousand years she waited for him.

“If by ‘better’ you mean my head doesn’t constantly feel like exploding, then yes, it feels better.” It took a moment to extrapolate what that meant; that she had a pounding migraine back when she was staring down Erika, ignoring all the pain in order to sneer at the woman who thought she could defile his body and squirrel his soul away in a box.

“Sorry.” The guilt for a lot of things, things that he couldn’t quiet put into words, quietly stabbed into his soul the same as a red truth; for driving chick Beato to this, for the fact Beato has to hurt like this, for his broken promises. Even if this whole affair started as Sayo’s torture match, meant to grind them both until they were bloody and raw and hurting, he still felt bad for what he did to her—it was just the way he was. Given both their personalities, with his incompetence and her stubbornness and refusal to come out and say anything, this would be its natural conclusion.

Beato, on the other hand, didn’t want any of it.

“Mmmm, stop saying sorry!” His head received a flurry of feather-light thumps. “If you were sorry, you’d strip down to your bare flesh and kneel on the floor!”

Deep down, they really did share similar souls; just as he would break up an awkward mood with an inappropriate joke, she would do the exact same. If she didn’t want to dwell on it while the memories were still fresh in her brain, that was fine—they just needed another conversation starter. And since jokes about her boobs weren’t exactly fitting given the scenario, he opted to drag a hand as sexily as he could down his torso, making sure to accentuate his nonexistent curves with his palm. ****

“Ihihihi, so you really do want to see me naked after all?” The mood had lost all the sexual tension from earlier, but his body still wanted to rest. More specifically, he wanted to cuddle up to her, feel her warm body next to his as he relaxed. For that purpose, clothes were a chain, holding him back from that. So, without thinking, he grinned and shouted as he threw his coat to the floor. “Bask in my naked glory!”

He regretted the humiliating string of words the second they left his mouth, but that wouldn’t stop him! Neither would the awkward, embarrassing scene of stripping down to underwear in front of somebody who was only casually watching. At the very least, they could bask in the mutual feeling of having embarrassing undergarments. It was a bonding exercise, right? She couldn’t laugh at his ducks unless she was willing to address the fact that she was wearing something that was clearly bought on Gaap’s recommendation. It was mutually assured destruction, or something like that. And besides, she didn't get to observe it for too long; his eyes were already feeling heavy as he rolled into bed next to her and yawned.

Normally when he put his head on the pillow and gazed out into his room, the only thing that would greet him would be the walls of his room dipped in the dark grey of twilight. But this time, for the first time, he saw Beato's sleepy face. It wasn't making any expression in particular, but just the sight of it, framed in the shadows of the room like an ancient painting, pulled at the corners of his lips.

A moment later, he felt a hand clasp his underneath the sheets, their fingers intertwining as they both drifted into sleep. 


End file.
